


The Art of Strategy and Peace

by BelleAmante



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Harry talks to Nagini, M/M, Multi, Non-DH Compliant, Non-Linear Narrative, Snape is a snarky bastard, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2055066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelleAmante/pseuds/BelleAmante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry makes a deal with Voldemort, he gets more than he had bargained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Strategy and Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2007 in a fic exchange for AnnePhoenix. It was completed pre-DH.

_Harry Potter first felt genuinely happy with his life when he was eighteen years old. He'd rid the world of the ever-present war with Voldemort. He had friends. He had people he considered family. He had a lover (and, on occasion, more than one). He was finally happy and at peace with himself._

_Of course, when he was a child and he imagined this day he coming, he didn't picture it just this way. He imagined a small house with a picket fence and a child of his own. He imagined sunshine and springtime and flowers of all colours. He imagined a quiet place where he had no cares and responsibilities, and, by the time he was eleven, he imagined a place where no one wanted to kill him._

_He did not imagine that he would be sitting around a table with three of the world's most powerful wizards. He did not imagine that he would enjoy plotting world domination so these same three wizards could teach him the intricacies of strategy. He did not imagine a place where people certainly still wanted to kill him but were too afraid to try. He did not imagine being the figurehead of all of Wizarding Britain._

_And he certainly did not,_ did not _imagine that he would be happy with Tom Riddle._

****

The Order is broken. The Order is broken. The Order is broken.

This thought echoed through Harry's head over and over and over until he thought he would go crazy. There were spies in the Order. There was anarchy. There was a battle over who should be in control, over who should give orders to whom, over who should know all the secrets. No one was willing to let someone else step forward for 100% leadership and none too few were looking to Harry of all people to guide them, but Harry knew that he was just a normal, seventeen year old boy and did his best to disappear whenever possible.

The Order is broken.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was killed by wizards not associated with the Death Eaters or Greyback's werewolves when faulty information had led to him to the home of an unsuspecting, extremely suspicious wizard. Mad-Eye Moody was killed by werewolves when half of the Order members (including Moody) refused to let Lupin speak at a meeting solely because Lupin was a werewolf, no matter his political alliances.

The Order is broken.

Charlie Weasley was paralyzed when three Order members began arguing over orders during a mission. He'd been keeping guard but had turned to break up the fight and had his spine snapped by a spell. The other three members were killed. Percy Weasley was killed when Death Eaters invaded the Ministry. No Order members were warned.

The Order is broken.

When Harry finally realized that his search for the seventh Horcrux was at an end, his soul was shattered by the losses all around him. His knowledge of Dark spells had increased one hundred fold. And with each Horcrux destroyed, first the cup and then the locket, another piece of Harry's soul turned Dark and some small part of him stopped caring.

The Order is broken.

By the December of what should have been Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, eleven Order members had been killed, five more severely injured, and there was no clear leadership anywhere. People were stuck fending for themselves, attempting to individually figure out ways to take down the Death Eaters and the werewolves. By December of that year, no one really noticed that Harry was nowhere to be found.

****

 

"Harry, Harry, Harry, what have we here?" Voldemort paced around him, voice hissing. "I certainly never expected to find you at one of my meetings, especially not willingly." He sneered the final word, stepping one step closer to the bound child at his feet. "Do tell me the reason for your intrusion. I'm sure I will find it highly. . ." He paused, placing a hand across his chin as if in thought, "entertaining."

Harry swallowed once, cringing and building his nerve at the same time. "I found the seventh piece." He'd decided that he wouldn't mention horcruxes directly, figuring rather wisely that it wouldn't endear him any further to the Dark Lord to mention his one weakness in front of the majority of his followers.

Lord Voldemort only chuckled, ignoring the few confused murmurs from his followers. "Oh, you have, have you? Wise boy. I was wondering if you would figure it out. I still don't see what this has to do with what you are doing here."

Voldemort was still pacing around him, which was making Harry both very nervous and a little dizzy. "I want to make a deal."

This time Voldemort laughed out loud. "A deal? With me? Oh, this is certainly entertaining. I murdered your parents, boy, or didn't you know?" This time Voldemort looked him directly in the face, causing the familiar burning to increase in intensity.

Harry gasped but managed to grind out. "I know."

"And you still want to make a deal? Well, then, let's hear this deal of yours, and I'll decide then how to kill you." Voldemort cast a spell wordlessly which lifted Harry off the ground, still bound, but it put them at eye level. "What are your terms?"

"I'll give you the means to take down the Order without killing most of them. I will take at least three very prominent Order members out of the fight with me. I also won't destroy the last three pieces." Harry figured telling Voldemort what he had to offer first would further increase his chances of survival.

Voldemort nodded, looking intrigued. "There's something distinctly lacking from that statement. What do you want in return?"

This was the hardest part. "I want not to die. I also want safety for a few of the Order members. I also want you to let me have some say in how Britain is run after you win this war. Also, when you catch Fenrir Greyback, I get to kill him."

Voldemort laughed aloud. "Oh. Is that all?" He stepped closer to where Harry was standing. "You'll forgive me, of course, if I don't believe you immediately. I will want some time to think on this. I've been looking forward to killing you for years." He laughed again, running a hand across Harry's forehead, making the boy squirm. Several of the Death Eaters laughed, but Voldemort hushed them with a look.

"We'll lock you away for the time being while I think. I trust that is to your approval?" He said it like a question, but Harry was already being taken away before he could respond.

****

 

In the summer following his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry found two more horcruxes. He'd discovered that it wasn't all that difficult to _find_ the horcruxes. It was what to do with them after he found them that was causing him the most troubles.

Despite their promise to stick with him on his quest, Ron and Hermione soon found themselves caught up in different parts of the war. With Hogwarts closed, all three of the trio were soon soldiers in a war against the Death Eaters and the werewolves, who had broken away from Voldemort not long after Dumbledore's death. News was mixed on their exact reasons for the split. During that fateful summer, though, a war was being fought on two fronts with Harry spending a majority of his time by himself, following his own path to the end of the war.

Harry found that he was glad a lot of the time that Ron and Hermione weren’t with him. He could just imagine Ron’s disgust and Hermione’s concern as he cast Dark spell after Dark spell in attempt to destroy pieces of Voldemort’s soul. Harry also knew that he would not be able to use his rage, anguish, pain, or loneliness if they were there beside him, keeping him steady and sane on the path of Light.

Sometimes when he would lie in bed at night, attempting to sleep, which happened rarely, he would see their faces and feel sick to his stomach with the guilt of his actions, but he never let that stop him. He knew that he needed to destroy those horcruxes or risk his own death and the death of everyone he cared about. He had to save them all, even at the risk of himself.

****

When Harry awoke in his cell, he was immediately aware of two things: that it was now very bright and that he was not alone. He was momentarily blinded by the sudden onset of light, causing him to feel disoriented and uneasy. The sense of unease was only magnified by the fact that he was blinded, unarmed, and in the presence of Death Eaters or quite possibly Voldemort himself, and given Harry's sudden and painful headache, it was likely to be the latter.

"I have accepted your deal, Harry Potter. Now, we must work out the logistics of our agreement." Voldemort's voice was calm, but Harry could hear (and he hated to admit it, feel) the underlying glee and malice in the man's voice.

"What logistics?" Harry sounded and felt angrier than he intended.

"You didn't think I would just let you go, did you?" There was a brief pause when Harry could see Voldemort look at him from head to toe. "Follow me."

Harry stood slowly, following the order before he thought better of it. "Where are we going?"

Voldemort was walking three steps ahead of him. "Rule number one. Don't ask unnecessary questions."

Harry stopped dead still. "Fuck you. I'm not some Death Eater in training. You can't just order me around."

Voldemort stopped again, turning on his heel to look Harry directly in the eye. "No, you are not a Death Eater in training, as you put it. You are an untrained wizard who is losing a war and who happens to be linked to the most powerful wizard in the world, who happens to be me." Voldemort paused. "There were an awful lot of "who"s in that statement. I should be more careful of how I speak."

Harry was so disoriented again by the abrupt change in sentence that his anger had turned to confusion before he could stop it. Voldemort began walking again and did not tell Harry to follow him. "But. . . I . . . damn."

Some part of Harry considered not following and just walking the other way. The other part, the part that wanted to live, followed Voldemort down the hall.

When they arrived at the destination, it was a suite of rooms, plainly decorated in navy blue and shades of green. There was nothing particularly unusual or spectacular about it, except that there were no windows. Harry looked around curiously but did not speak.

Voldemort turned to look at him again. "First, you will take a bath. The house elves will take those clothes and burn them. A new, more appropriate set will be provided for you." Harry had an image of himself in brown sackcloth but thought it more likely that he would be given more "wizardly" clothing. "After you bathe, you will eat. When you are through eating, the house elves will send for me, and we will speak again."

"But-" Voldemort was out of the room before Harry could utter a word of protest against his treatment.

****

As he walked through the doors into Dumbledore’s office, Harry couldn’t help thinking that breaking into Hogwarts really shouldn’t have been this easy. All he’d had to do was cast a few simple spells at the wards, and they’d let him through easily enough. It didn’t make him feel very safe.

Dumbledore’s office was a mess of papers, things that had been thrown everywhere when the Order had tried to figure out all of his plans for how to kill Voldemort. Harry had spent hours in this office going through papers, but he hadn’t found much of anything. He was back again today because he was not having any more success finding the last horcrux or horcuxes. He’d found the locket and destroyed it. The ring and the diary had already been destroyed. He’d found items belonging to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, though he hadn’t been able to destroy them.

At this moment, however, he was stuck.

After four hours, Harry finally found some notes that mentioned what Harry assumed were horcruxes.

_There is the potential that the soul can be split and placed into another human being, though I don’t want to contemplate the thought. The significance of such an action is so huge and horrifying that it terrifies even me. I do not like to consider that a man could place his soul into a baby-_

Harry dropped the scroll to the floor, hands shaking so badly that he could not hold it any further. Every emotion possible was roiling through Harry’s system: pain most prominent of all.

He was the last horcrux.

He was the last horcrux, and Dumbledore knew it.

He was the last horcrux and was linked forever to the most sadistic and powerful wizard in the world. Harry’s emotional anguish and rage took him over for a moment, and he screamed causing the wind around him to swirl, tossing papers and artefacts and even small pieces of furniture to fly about the office. Glass shattered, but Harry felt nothing except grief and betrayal.

He concentrated as hard as he could on Ron and Hermione’s magic and love and apparated to them. What he saw on that battlefield scarred him forever.

****

"We're going to play a game."

Harry startled. "A game? What kind of game?"

"It's a game of strategy."

"Strategy? Like chess?"

"Well, yes, in a way.”

A quick thought crossed Harry's mind. "You want me to help you plan how to take over Britain."

Voldemort laughed out loud, resting his head on his arms on the table. "I don't need your help, boy, but you didn't think that I would just let you sit here doing nothing while I take over the world."

Harry’s face flushed red and his hands tightened in his lap. "Just because I agreed not to fight you anymore doesn't mean that I agreed to help you either. I'm not your ally. I'm not your servant, and I'm certainly not some Dark Lord in training."

Voldemort was still laughing, but there was a malevolent flash in his eyes. "Must I remind you that you came to me looking to make a deal? Here's your deal. I keep your precious werewolf and his lover safe, and you do as I say," Voldemort ground out the last four words.

Harry took a deep breath, clenching his hands into fists. "So, basically, I'm your slave to keep my friends safe."

Voldemort laughed again, and his shift in moods was beginning to make Harry nervous. "No, of course not. You're far too powerful to be considered slave material. You are, however, under my control. But this game isn't to make you help me take over Britain. This game is to help you become a better leader when the time comes."

"But I don't want to be anyone's leader."

Voldemort’s visage shifted to an expression that could almost have been described as sympathetic. "Yes, but sometimes it isn't our choice the role we must play."

There was a long pause that Harry eventually broke. "Just tell me about the game then."

Voldemort smiled. "We're going to be assigned a certain number of men with particular powers. The scene will be set, and you and I will compete in battle to see who wins. At the end of the battle, the loser must agree to the one request of the winner. There are, of course, certain wishes I will not be able to grant.” Voldemort paused as Harry nodded. “You cannot ask for your freedom. You cannot ask for me to kill any of my Death Eaters. You cannot ask for me to kill you. Your turn."

Harry wished for more time, but he feared that if he delayed any longer Voldemort might not allow him any concessions at all. "You can't ask me to kill anyone, not one of your Death Eaters or one of my friends. You can’t ask me not to kill Greyback. You can't ask me to become a leader of one of your armies. You can't ask me to take the Mark."

"Good, we're settled then. Let's play."

****

_Harry sits at the table across from Snape and stares into the fire. It's been almost a year since he started playing this game of strategy with Voldemort, and he's getting better, but the game is getting harder. Snape and Lucius are included now, which only adds more interesting and complicated dynamics to an already interesting and complicated game._

_When the fire pops, Harry is pulled from his thoughts and begins to listen to Snape once more. "You know that Lucius is likely to use fire, so we need to be sure that our soldiers have something to block that without getting caught up by Our Lord's soldiers. Be sure that you-"_

_He's heard these same lectures from Snape hundreds of times, and it doesn't matter how hard he tries, sometimes he just can't make himself listen to Snape without getting angry. It doesn't matter that Harry is now one of the most powerful wizards in Britain or that in all actuality, he is of higher rank than Snape; Snape still talks to Harry as if he is four years old._

****

Harry sat at the wooden table, a place he’d begun to hate with every fibre of his being. There were sets of small soldiers scattered all over the table. Voldemort had given Harry twenty soldiers with different skills and six hours to prepare before they’d started their game. He’d been able to come up with a few good tactics, but he wasn’t very good at strategy. Ron had always been the strategist, but Harry didn’t often allow himself to think of Ron. Harry started to move a piece, but Voldemort gave him a warning look.

“What is it now?” Harry snapped out.

“You would be sending a relatively weak piece out against two stronger pieces. I’m all for sacrifice when it’s necessary, but you’re down to only five pieces. Think of another way.” Then Voldemort sat back in his chair and watched.

Harry hated him. He hated that Voldemort acted like he was some professor and that Harry was his student. He didn’t want to learn strategy. He didn’t want to learn Dark Arts. He didn’t want to be some general for the Dark Lord.

“Harry, you aren’t thinking about the game. Pay attention.”

Harry also hated that Voldemort ordered him around, but he was often inclined to listen to what the Dark Lord had to say. Harry looked back at his pieces and groaned in frustration.

****

It wasn’t long after finding the fifth horcrux that Harry realized some truths about Severus Snape. He’d spent a lot of hours by himself, which left him plenty of time to think. He replayed the night of Dumbledore’s death over and over in his head, but something just didn’t settle. He knew very well that Snape could have killed him in an instant, but instead, he’d been telling him what to do, giving advice in his own snide way.

Harry didn’t think that Snape was on Dumbledore’s side completely, but he also didn’t think Snape was working for Voldemort. It took him weeks to track Snape down, and when he did, he wrote only a few words.

_You’re right. I’m an idiot. I hope that if I need you that you’ll save me again._

_H_

__

Those words had taken him hours to compose, but he figured they were the least likely to attract any unnecessary attention. They were also the most that Harry’s pride and resentment would let him say.

****

About four days after arriving at Voldemort’s manor, Harry ran into Nagini. Almost literally. She was slithering down the hallway, and he was distracted, remembering a conversation he’d had with Snape, and he almost stepped on her.

“Watch where you’re going or I‘ll eat you,” she hissed at him, and he jumped out of the way, glaring at her.

“You can’t hurt me. I have a deal with Voldemort,” he hissed back.

“That does not matter. I do not belong to him.” Harry could practically see the haughty expression on her face as she slid up to look him in the eye. “I do not belong to him, and he does not belong to me. Neither belongs to the other. You, however, belong to him.”

Harry’s clenched his fists, face flushed. “I do not! He doesn’t own me.”

Nagini hissed at him in what he assumed was a laugh. “Oh, maybe not, young Harry Potter, but he will.”

Harry continued to glare at her. “What do you know that I don’t?”

Nagini snake-laughed at him again. “Do not be so angry at me, young human. I just know my Tom. He will not let you go so easily. He likes pretty toys.”

Harry’s glare faded. “What does that mean?”

“You shall see, but for now, I would just like to follow you around.” Nagini wrapped herself in an out of his legs.

“You want to what?” Harry was very confused. At first, she was threatening him, and now she was asking to follow him.

“You intrigue me, and I wish to watch you. Do you disagree?” She placed her head on one his shoulders, wrapping most of her body against his back.

Harry was so distracted by her tongue flickering near his neck that he stammered. “N. . . no, I don’t mind you following me around for a bit.”

“Good. You shall make me very happy. You shall make my Tom happy, too.”

Harry didn’t think that he liked the sound of that.

****

The first time Harry had sex, he was seventeen and it was against his will. He and Voldemort had been playing their game of strategy, and it was the closest he'd ever come to winning. Voldemort had, however, beaten him in the end, and the look he'd given Harry had been enough to make Harry's blood run cold.

"Harry, you have lost this game, and for your penalty, I ask for the use of your body for the night." Voldemort said it like he was asking for Harry to sit in on one of his meetings with one of his Death Eaters, which had penalty a few times in the past.

There was a long moment in which Harry attempted to translate what exactly “using his body” might mean. The moment his brain made the connection, Harry went deathly pale as he felt all of the blood rush out of his face. He could hear his heart beating in his chest. In all of the possible things he would have told Voldemort not to do, this hadn't even occurred to him. "No. No, you can't." 

"Oh, Harry, you know better than that. I won, and you lost. This is what I'm asking for as your penalty."

"But. . . but. . ." Harry tried to think of some argument that could get him out of this situation but nothing came to mind.

"Now, go to your room. I'll be up there in an hour. I expect you to be prepared." With that, Voldemort left the room.

Harry thought he was going to be sick. The whole world was spinning. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse Snape with every fibre of his being. He wanted to curl up into that safe ball where he felt nothing at all. Instead, he just sat there, pale and staring at nothing.

When he finally came back to reality, twenty minutes had passed, and Harry stood shakily. He walked the short distance to his bedroom, but it seemed as if he'd walked miles and miles. After he'd showered, of which he had little memory, Harry walked into his bedroom and stared at the bed, and chose to sit on the chair instead.

At exactly an hour, there was a short knock on Harry's door. Harry didn't answer, but the door opened anyway, and Voldemort walked in wearing his black robes. Harry said nothing.

"Oh, come, Harry, you should have expected this at some point. You are quite the attractive young man."

And that was what made this all the more terrible. He really should have known that something like this could happen. Despite Snape’s insistence, he wasn’t stupid, not even a little. 

Harry still said nothing, didn't react at all. In fact, he acted as if Voldemort had never entered the room. Some part of him knew that if he stood up, if he reacted, if he felt anything at all, that this would all become real. Harry could see Voldemort watching him with a strange expression on his face.

They stayed there like that for what could have been minutes but was likely only a few seconds before Voldemort finally gestured for him to stand. It took another few seconds of Harry building up his nerve before he stood, and then all of the reality and all of his fears came crashing down on him, just as he had feared. He felt sick to his stomach, frightened and shaking, heart pounding so hard in his chest that he could feel it across his whole body.

Harry was wearing only the green bathrobe that the house elves had left him after he'd bathed, and he'd never felt so naked in his whole life. Voldemort cocked his head at him, studying him closely, expression never changing. Finally, the older man straightened and nodded.

"Come here, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep, startled intake of breath. His expression closed off, and he clenched his hands into determined fists, but he walked closer to the Dark Lord, who was still standing only feet from the doorway. He stopped just out of reach, eyes only half open.

Harry heard Voldemort sigh, but he still didn't take that last terrible step further. "Closer, Harry." And there it was, a direct order.

When Harry moved forward, he expected Voldemort to strike out at him, grasp his hair and drag him close, to force him down to his knees, or other terrible things that Harry couldn’t quite imagine. Instead, Voldemort only touched Harry's cheek gently with one pale, white hand, which caused Harry's eyes to flutter closed and then open again quickly. That hand trailed down his cheek and across his neck to the exposed skin along Harry's collar bone with just the very tips of his fingers and maybe a quick brush of sharp nails.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, fear tightening his jaw. This care and gentleness wasn't what Harry had imagined, and he kept expecting the pain at every new caress of Voldemort's hand.

When Voldemort placed Harry's chin in his hand and tilted his head up, Harry's eyes clenched tightly closed, his body tensed. "Open your eyes." Harry took another deep breath, but his eyes eventually fluttered open to meet Voldemort's red. "I am not going to hurt you, Harry Potter. Not today."

Harry's heart clenched as he felt the honesty behind those words. They made him feel only slightly less nervous, but there was truth in those words. "Now, take this off, and go lie down on the bed."

When Voldemort stepped back away from him, Harry reached for the edge of the bathrobe, but he only fumbled with it for a moment. His hands didn't seem to work with his brain. After a few moments of fumbling, he untied the knot and let the bathrobe fall to the floor. Some part of him wondered if he should put it someplace else.

He turned around to stare at the bed, but he moved closer to it anyway with the most confidence that he had shown in the entire night, which wasn't much. He slid up onto his bed and lay down. Meeting Voldemort's eyes, he cringed and closed his own. Harry was lying naked on the bed with Voldemort staring at him, and he'd never felt so uncomfortable.

He kept his eyes closed even as he heard Voldemort moving around the room. He assumed the older man (and man, he was) was undressing, and Harry didn’t think he was quite prepared to see the most powerful wizard in the world entirely naked.

When Harry felt the mattress dip down, every muscle in his body clenched, tightening despite his resolve not to let himself be frightened any further. Voldemort again touched his face first. “Open your eyes.”

When Harry opened his eyes, all he could see was Voldemort’s face, and he was okay with that. Voldemort slid the hand from his face, down his neck, and across his chest, brushing fingers over one nipple and then the other, causing them to harden into the caress. Harry could see a slight smile on Voldemort’s face, which only made him feel sick.

He wanted to close his eyes again and pretend that this was anyone other than Voldemort, but he knew that the other man would be extremely unhappy with him if he did. He didn’t allow himself to think that he was doing what he was told to please Voldemort because that would make him lose all resolve.

Voldemort’s hand slipped down even further, brushing across the thin but ticklish stomach, which caused Harry to squirm. This brought the smallest chuckle from Voldemort, the first genuine sound Harry thought he had ever heard from the wizard.

Harry was so lost in his own head that he was actually somewhat surprised when he realized that he was beginning to harden under Voldemort’s hands. Voldemort also must have realized it at the same time because he moved his hand down even further to caress Harry into further hardness. Harry groaned at the feel of the warm hand, and this first noise of any kind from Harry caused Voldemort to smile even more.

Voldemort slid up Harry’s body again, and for the first time, Harry felt that Voldemort was almost as hard as he was. “I need you to turn over, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to voice some kind of protest, but Voldemort’s look stopped him. Voldemort placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder and helped push the boy onto this stomach. The feel of the cool blanket against his warm skin sent pleasant chills up Harry’s spine that were almost doused when Voldemort grabbed him firmly, though not painfully, by the hips to pull him to his hands and knees.

The first feel of that hand against his arse made Harry jolt and begin to soften in fear. “Relax, Harry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Harry heard Voldemort slide open a jar of something, and Voldemort’s finger was slick with a warm lubrication of some kind when it began to trace across the opening. When the first finger slipped inside just slightly, Harry tensed every muscle in his body again in shock, but Voldemort’s hand on the small of his back made him remember the order to relax, and he tried. The sensation of that single finger sliding into his body made Harry flush with shame.

Voldemort took his time preparing Harry, using just one finger, then two, then three, and occasionally, he would move his other hand around to insure that Harry remained hard throughout. Despite Harry’s occasional groans, not a sound was made.

When Voldemort positioned himself to enter, Harry began to panic again, breath coming short, shallow gasps. “Relax. Just breathe.” There was no question this time that it was an order, and Harry forced his muscles to relax under those pale hands. As Voldemort entered him, it burned, and Harry hated himself and Voldemort and Snape and Dumbledore and everyone who had put him there.

As Voldemort moved inside him, he brushed against a spot that hurt with its intensity, causing Harry to moan aloud. Voldemort continued to brush against that spot and moved his right hand around to caress Harry once more. Harry came hard, vision blacking just slightly, and he felt Voldemort climax soon after.

Voldemort slid out of Harry’s body gently, and Harry felt him press a small kiss to his back. In the aftermath, Voldemort said nothing, but Harry heard a quiet cleansing spell and warming spell being performed on him. Voldemort left the room, saying nothing.

Harry lay there alone and cried himself to sleep.

The next morning, when Harry finally woke up, he felt very different and very much the same. It surprised him that what he could remember most was the feel of Voldemort’s hand on his cheek and not so much the feel of the actual sex.

It also surprised him that he did not regret his decision to make a deal with Voldemort. Even after having sex mostly against his will, Harry was still glad that he had saved the Weasleys and Remus and Tonks and Neville. They were more important to him than anything in the world.

For their sake, he didn’t mind learning strategy from Voldemort, casting Dark spells, giving into his rage on occasion, or even having sex with the Dark Lord. They were his reason for living even if he couldn’t speak to them and would never be the same boy they knew.

All he knew was that he’d saved them from death and that he didn’t really mind the outcome of his decision.

****

When Harry arrived at the battle scene, Ron and Hermione were already dead. Their bodies were near each other, bloody and torn to pieces. Neither of their wands were anywhere in sight.

Harry knew that there was a battle still raging all around him, but all he could see were those two lifeless bodies, and the blood. So much blood.

Harry heard his own blood rushing through his head, and his body shook with grief and rage stronger than anything he had ever felt before. He could see nothing but his dead friends, and feel nothing but vengeance towards those who had killed them. He spun on one heel to face the rest of the battle and screamed as loud as he could, placing all emotion into that one noise and raised his wand.

He knew no more.

When he awoke, he was lying on the ground, freezing cold. And covered in blood. He stood, still shaking, and looked around him. The sight made him sick to his stomach.

He was surrounded on all sides by the remains of werewolves. They all looked as if they had been gutted and torn into small pieces. It was impossible to tell one werewolf from any other. There was the smell of rotting flesh, so Harry knew that he must have been unconscious for hours. He also knew that he had done this, some part of him had massacred these werewolves in the way that they had massacred his friends.

He stared at the scene around him for hours, not moving, just examining, before turning away to be sick on the ground. Looking just one more time, he apparated away to an unknown destination, where he backed himself into a corner and tried not to feel anything at all.

In that moment of absolute despair, he sent out one mental message to anyone who would hear it. "Help me. Someone, help me."

When Snape found Harry, the boy was curled up in a dark corner with his knees tucked up against his chest, rocking back and forth, a small sort of whimper the only sound in the otherwise deathly silent room. Snape was in the room for several minutes before Harry even realized he was there. It took him another couple of minutes to realize that Snape was speaking to him in a quiet voice, urging him to uncurl and move away from the wall, to release his grip on his wand, to breathe in and out and in and out.

"I. . ." Harry was having a hard time forming words over the knot in his throat. "I. . . hurt." The last word was the only other word he could force out before tears started spilling down his dirty cheeks.

"Mr. Potter, you really need to get up off this floor. It's freezing in here." 

Harry was shaking weakly as he grasped Snape's outstretched hand. He felt like he would collapse at any moment, body too weak to support him any further. "Can. . . can you get . . . me out of here?"

Harry felt Snape give a loud, unhappy sigh behind him. "As you wish."

As Snape finished speaking, Harry felt himself being Side-Along Apparated away to some unknown destination. When they stopped moving, Harry felt instantly warmer and realized that he was in someone's bedroom, and there was a fire glowing.

"Mr. Potter, we are in my home. I need you to take a bath before you lie down in a bed and go to sleep. Can you do that?" Snape was speaking very slowly and like Harry was a small child. Some part of Harry knew that he should be angry, but he couldn't seem to work up the energy to feel anything in particular.

****  
 _The Weasley Family, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Neville Longbottom-_

_You are being removed from this war at the behest of a concerned party. You will be imprisoned in these rooms with your every whim seen to until the war has been finished, and peace has reigned over Britain. At that time, you will be released, and all of the details of your safety will be explained._

_Do not attempt to escape. It is useless. Do not fear. This is for your own safety and well-being._

_Sincerely,_

_One who wishes your safety above all else_

 

Harry cast a spell on the wing of the mansion which housed the only people he loved. They all awoke to find this letter taped to their mirrors. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked confused for a moment, then suspicious, and then Mrs. Weasley started crying. Within moments, she was calling out for Bill, Fleur, Ginny, Charlie, Fred, and George, and she heard answering calls back. The Weasley family all huddled together, some of them cried, but they all just held each other.

Lupin and Nymphadora woke up in bed together, and it took them only seconds to realize that they were not in their bed in her home. Tonks attempted to escape after reading the letter, and Lupin just looked resigned. After thirty minutes of watching her spells dissolve into nothingness, Tonks sat down beside Lupin on the bed and rubbed his back. They eventually went in search of the Weasleys.

Neville sat up in bed, blinked at his room, and frantically scrambled out of the bed, ending up as a tangled mass of sheets and clumsy boy on the floor. When he finally saw the letter, he promptly sat down very hard on the floor. He read the letter over and over and over, tracing the letters and the names. Then, he smiled, and looked up at the ceiling as if he knew Harry was watching and said, "Thank you, Harry."

Harry knew that they would all figure it out long before he felt safe to visit them, but at the moment, they were safe, and that was all that mattered.

****

"Potter, are you listening to me?" Snape sounded angry, so Harry guessed that he must have been speaking for some time.

Harry shook his head to reorient himself to the present and blinked at Snape. "I'm sorry, sir, no."

Snape sighed angrily. "Of course you weren't. I was just saying something that could save all of Wizarding Britain, including you and me, but no, why would the famous Harry Potter want to hear anything about anything so insignificant as that?"

Harry gritted his teeth together and forced himself not to cast a wandless Silencio on his former professor. "I said I was sorry. . . sir." He forced the "sir" out. "What were you saying?"

Snape stopped his tirade to cock his head at Harry, sliding greasy hair down over one shoulder. "You are ready to listen this time, I trust." He didn't pause long enough for Harry to answer. "I have come up with a plan that could very well save all of Wizarding Britain, and you must listen to me all the way through, even though it is likely that you will hate this. Is that understood? Not a single interruption, or I will apparate you out of here to the middle of nowhere and allow you to fend for yourself."

Harry swallowed. He was almost back to full health, but he knew that it was very unlikely that he would survive on his own wherever Snape decided to leave him. He also knew that he hated Snape more than he hated anyone at this very moment. "Perfectly clear."

"Good. First, the part you will hate the most. You will need to make a deal with the Dark Lord." Snape looked Harry directly in the eye was if daring him to speak, but Harry remained stoically silent, though Snape could see him warring with it. He smirked. "You have several things you could offer him through your . . . allegiance, and he has many things he can offer you. I am not telling you to turn yourself into a Death Eater, but by calling a truce with him, you can save yourself and those you care about. He will offer you protection. And, most importantly, he can give you Greyback."

After this, Snape paused, and Harry felt his heart pulse faster within his chest. He wanted nothing more in the world than to kill Fenrir Greyback, and not just kill, he could fell the anger building in his chest, the desire to destroy, to rip apart, to massacre. He hated this part of himself, but with the thought of Greyback, he relished it.

"May. . . may I speak?"

"You may." Snape nodded.

"What's in it for you?"

Snape chuckled, actually chuckled, and Harry felt chills roll down his spine. "For me? I will be the one to bring you before the Dark Lord. I will be the one to help him insure his victory over Britain, and the pitiful excuse for an Order. I will insure my survival, despite my former allegiance to Dumbledore."

Harry shuddered, the image of himself in Snape's hands, being handed over to the Dark Lord. "Why should I follow through with this plan?"

Snape leaned forward onto the table, elbows resting on the table. "How many people have died that you care about?" Harry knew it was a rhetorical question, but he could have told Snape the number: twelve, including his parents. "By making this truce, you could insure the safety of the remaining Weasleys, the werewolf, his girlfriend. You could make sure that this war ended quickly with no more casualties."

"But Voldemort will win. He'll take over, and cause chaos and kill all the muggleborns and-"

Snape chuckled again, cutting Harry off in mid-speech. "You fool boy. He doesn't intend to kill off all the muggleborns. He's half-blood himself. His main goal is to create a separation between everything muggle and everything wizard. He wants nothing to do with muggles whatsoever. The further we are from them, the better."

"Then why would Dumbledore have been so set against him?" Harry couldn't see this side of Voldemort, couldn't make himself. There was too much information being thrown at him all at once.

"Because the Dark Lord also wants to introduce more Dark magic into the world, and it's quite possible that he will try for world domination. For Britain, though, his victory would insure peace, at least momentarily, especially if we have the Weasleys out of the way."

Harry felt sick to his stomach. Snape sounded so rational, so reasonable, but all Harry could see was himself shaking hands with Voldemort while the Weasleys were locked away in prison cells. "I need some time to think about this. I can't. . . just jump into this."

Snape snorted. "You must be less Gryffindor than I thought."

****

When Voldemort asked for sex from Harry again, Harry was not so frightened, nor so angry. He was still worried, and he couldn’t keep himself from shaking, but he didn’t argue with Voldemort, and he didn’t feel the need to shut down emotionally.

“Kiss me, Harry,” Voldemort ordered as Harry lay naked on his back on the bed. Harry was able to look at Voldemort’s body this time and was surprised to see a normal man, despite his skin tone and unusual face.

Harry leaned his head up and pressed his mouth to Voldemort’s, doing as he was ordered. The kiss was a good one, and Harry had only the slightest fleeting thought of Ginny and Cho before he was overwhelmed by the differences between the girls and this man. With the girls, he had been hesitant and awkward and confused, but with Voldemort, he just allowed himself to be led. Voldemort’s kisses sent Harry into a mass of arousal and confusion. Harry liked feeling this way, allowing himself to disappear into sensation.

****

“Hello, Harry,” Nagini hissed as she slithered into his room. He was sitting on a chair, knees curled underneath him, reading a book.

“Hello.” Nagini slithered up the back of his chair, placing her head behind his neck and flickering her tongue against it. “Hey, stop it!” he snapped, reaching a hand behind his neck.

Nagini flickered her tongue again. “I like the way you smell.”

“Thank you but please stop licking at my neck, or I’ll call Voldemort on you.”

“Must I remind you? He does not tell me what to do. He tells you what to do.” Harry blushed as she said this, remembering his first conversation with her when she’d predicted that he would do as much.

She flicked his neck once again. “I like your smell even more when you react like this.”

Harry turned around in his chair. “Seriously, stop it.”

“You are much fun. I shall sit here with you.”

Harry sighed. “If you must.” He wouldn’t admit it, but he was grateful for her company.

****

In the weeks after his massacre of the werewolves, Harry spent a lot of time staring at walls, feeling nothing. He'd allowed himself to feel so much prior to that day that the Dark Arts were taking over his soul. In his grief over the discovery of the seventh horcrux and then the discovery of his two best friends, he didn't care for a split second whether he destroyed everything in sight, friend or foe.

Snape had been reminding him to eat and forcing potions down his throat but Harry didn't much care what his former professor did to him. Some of the potions could be killing him slowly, but at least physical pain would allow him to feel something again.

One afternoon, Snape sat down in the chair across from him, forcing Harry to pay attention for a moment. "Mr. Potter, listen to me."

Harry said nothing, but he focused his eyes on Snape, which he supposed the older man must have taken as a positive sign. "Yes, you did Dark Arts. Yes, you killed those werewolves. Yes, you saw your best friends dead. This is not a reason to fall apart. Dark magic does not destroy a person. Sometimes it makes them stronger. Now that you have begun to use it, you must continue, or it will eat you alive until you kill us all."

"But. . . but, I don't want to do Dark Arts. Dumbledore said. . ."

"Sod Dumbledore. He sent you off on a quest to destroy pieces of another man's soul. I do not think he cared much what happened to yours at the end."

Harry began to feel some flicker of anger. "He did so care about me."

"Oh, of course he did. He sent you away to live with muggles who abused you. He let you face Voldemort as an eleven year old and again when you were twelve. He sent you off by yourself to search for-"

"He was only doing that to help me!" In his fury, Harry stopped paying attention to his magic, and Snape was thrown backward into the wall, the fire snapped and grew, and the house shook. "He loved me and had to help me succeed! He just wanted to save us all!"

"Dammit, Potter. I know all that! I was trying to prove a point, which if you look at the state of my house, I have proven."

Harry's eyes went wide, and the magical turbulence stopped abruptly. "What just happened?"

Snape picked himself up off the floor gingerly. "That is what happens once you've started using Dark magic and then cut if off. It grows inside of you until you eventually let it out like . . . well, like that, actually."

“What. . . what do I have to do?” Harry’s voice was quiet, and he looked back at the wall.

“You have to train it.”

****

Playing the game with Lucius, Snape, and Voldemort was more fun, even if Harry still hated Snape. Lucius, on the other hand, talked to Harry like they were equals, and when Harry messed up and killed half of his army, Lucius only laughed and showed him where he could have fixed it.

In teaching him, they all had different strategies. Snape taught Harry strategy just the way he taught Harry potions: that is to say, not at all. Harry would get so angry or so bored listening to Snape that most of the time, he just didn’t listen.

Lucius showed him how to do everything. He taught him creative new spells and showed him battle tactics. With Lucius, it was fun.

Voldemort tried to let Harry figure things out on his own, which sometimes worked, allowing Harry to come up with his own creative ways. The first time Harry had beaten Voldemort at the game, Voldemort had been so amused that he’d laughed for minutes on end while Nagini and Harry just stared at him.

Harry sat at the wooden table next to Snape, who was his ally in this round, and across from Voldemort.

“Potter, you just lost fifteen of our best soldiers. What made you think that going against fire with fire was the best plan?” Snape snapped at him.

“I don’t know, Snape. No one ever told me that certain fire spells could be turned on their caster. Maybe if you had warned me-” His face was flushed, teeth gritted, and fists clenched. 

“Harry, calm down immediately.” Voldemort’s voice was calm but there was a hint of an order underneath. Harry attempted to calm down mostly unsuccessfully, though he did stop speaking. “Severus, you must know that Harry works best when he’s told what to do.”

“But, my lord, how is he ever expected to lead an army if he can’t think for himself?”

“He can think for himself, but he’s still young. He doesn’t know what we know. Give him information first, watch, and then yell if you like, but he can’t be expected to know everything.” Harry blushed, listening to Voldemort talk about him as if he wasn’t there.

“So, if we want Harry to do anything in battle, we have to tell him what to do?” Snape seemed angry, though he certainly wasn’t going to let it show.

“For a while, yes. Now, back to the game, you both still have thirty five soldiers left. There is a chance you might win.”

Within moments, they were back to the game, but Harry could feel Voldemort watching him.

****

The battlefield was dark and grimy with only the occasional spell, and the massive full moon for light. There were sounds of men screaming all over, and Harry wasn’t exactly sure where he was in proximity to anyone else. As far as he could tell, he’d taken down four werewolves so far.

Then, it was as if Voldemort materialized out of thin air next to him, which, knowing the wizard, was entirely possible. “I’ve spotted Greyback.”

Harry turned to look at him, remembering the dead bodies of his friends on the cold ground. “Where is he?”

“Follow me.” They walked through the woods for a moment before coming across the werewolves who were fighting with seven or eight wizards. “There. He’s the one in the middle.”

Harry stared at Greyback for a moment, just watching him. Before he raised his wand, he felt Voldemort step up behind him. "Harry, now. Kill him!"

Every emotion that Harry had felt over the last few months were placed into those two small words, aimed at wolf who had changed his life forever.

_Avada Kedavra._

In watching Greyback fall to the ground dead, Harry had never felt more satisfied or more drained.

****

Harry wasn't sure how he knew exactly when peace had settled over Britain, but it was if he could breathe it in the air. There was something calm that had settled over the scenery around him, maybe it was in the trees or the earth or in the people themselves, but Harry could feel it.

He allowed himself two days of time in peace before considering what to do with his captives. When he finally came to the decision, it took him another day to work up the nerve.

He decided it was best to visit them all at once, to get it over with in one go, though he knew that they were very unlikely to like what he was going to tell them. As he knocked on the door and then slid it open, he thought he could feel his heartbeat all the way from his toes to the peak of his head.

Stepping into the room, Harry met the eyes of Remus Lupin, who immediately stood up, though neither of them moved. Molly turned around from the bookshelf she was dusting, dropped her wand, and placed a hand over her mouth. They were the only two people.

Harry took a deep breath. "Hi Remus, Mrs. Weasley." His voice was quiet.

"Harry, I trust that it is you who placed us here." Remus's voice was hard in a way that Harry had never heard it, and his chest ached from the sound of it.

"Yes. I am." Harry was shaking, and he closed his eyes fully expecting someone to scream or attack him at any moment. When the moments passed and he felt nothing, he opened his eyes again. Mr. Weasley had entered the room and placed a hand on Molly's shoulder. Harry finally spoke again, "Everyone is okay, right?"

Mr. Weasley walked towards him. "Yes, Harry, everyone is alright."

Harry exhaled deeply. He'd been watching them, but he couldn't always trust that there were things he wasn't seeing, things that could make a difference in how they felt about him. "Can you call everyone in here so I can explain myself?"

As Neville entered, the smile on his face gave Harry the strength to face the others. Charlie rolled in with a muggle wheel chair that Harry was sure was enchanted in some way. Bill and Fleur walked in hand in hand, and Fleur gave Harry a confused but trusting expression. Ginny glared at him but said nothing. Fred and George were not laughing for once. Tonks just walked to Remus's chair. No one said anything. Harry supposed that could be taken as either a good or a bad sign.

Harry took another deep breath before speaking. "I guess I need to explain myself. First, I am here because there is once again peace in Wizarding Britain. It may not be the peace we originally fought to gain, but it is peace, and it is real. Second, Voldemort is in power."

"Voldemort? In power?" Mrs. Weasley looked like she might faint.

"Yes, and though is not a benevolent leader always, he is going to be a good one." As Tonks looked like she was about to argue, Harry held up a hand. "Please don't interrupt me. Just give me a moment to explain.” 

And so Harry explained about using Dark Arts, about Ron and Hermione, about Snape saving him and his deal with Voldemort, leaving out only information on the horcruxes and the fact that he shared Voldemort’s bed. It was not the easiest explanation of his life, and seeing people he once considered his only family look at him with distrust made him hurt in a way that very little else could.

"So you and Voldemort are allies now?" Lupin’s voice was tight with repressed emotion.

"Yes. All of Wizarding Britain is run by Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, and myself. Three half-bloods and a pureblood wizard. Voldemort may be a dictator, but he knows how to make people love him. Because there is peace again, you are free to leave here, but there are some conditions." Lupin visibly flinched at this.

"First, you must not try to rebuild the Order to take down Voldemort. He has been a good leader and will continue to be so. Second, Remus, you must continue to take the Wolfsbane potion on the nights of the full moon. The deal with Voldemort was to keep you safe, and you aren't safe without it. Third, you must not associate with muggles. Mr. Weasley, you can still study their culture, but you must not talk to them. Fourth, you must consent to a spell that will not allow you to talk of what you know about my association with Voldemort. I haven't said anything that should give away what I know, but I must be careful. Do you all agree to these terms?"

Everyone just stared at him but one by one they nodded. "Good. I'm leaving then. Good-bye to you all." Harry left the room before anyone could say a word. They were safe, and that was all that mattered.

****

When Harry woke up, Voldemort was already gone, though his place in the bed was still warm. Harry buried himself further into the warm, white pillow until he felt something nudge the bed near his leg. He rolled over in that direction and hissed, "Nagini, is that you?"

As she slid up the banister and onto the bed, she answered. "I love being here when he comes to you. It makes me feel all warm."

Harry blushed. "You were watching?"

"Of course. It is most entertaining." Harry could feel her amusement. She began to rub herself across his legs. "You are both so beautiful when you are together, especially when you do not know I am here. I feel all warm." She repeated herself and rubbed her scales across Harry's chest.

"Nagini?" he asked, but she didn't answer him. "Nagini, what are you doing?"

"I'm so warm and touching you makes me feel better."

Harry laughed. "Are you trying to have sex with me?"

Nagini's hiss was amused, like a snake's laugh, but not quite. "I do not think that would be wise. Do not make me stop watching."

Harry shifted, causing the snake to wrap herself all the way around his torso. Some part of him wondered when this became comfortable and safe to him. He rolled his eyes at her. "I don't think I have much say. You're his snake."

Nagini hissed again. "Remember, I am not his snake. He is not my human. Neither belongs to the other."

"I remember."

"Do not make me stop watching." She brushed her tongue across his warm cheek.

"Okay."

In her next hiss, he felt only contentment, and wondered again why his should match it.

****

_"Potter, you're not listening to me again," Snape snaps._

_"I'm sorry. What were you saying?" Harry smiles at Snape across the table, but Snape only scowls._

_"I'm saying that we only have three more hours to prepare for our game against Our Lord and Lucius, and I don't particularly feel like losing. Again."_

_"That's only because Voldemort made you let Nagini watch you have sex with Lucius."_

_Snape grits his teeth. "That bloody perverted snake. I will not lose this game again today because you can't pay attention when I talk to you."_

_"I'm sorry. There's just a lot on my mind."_

_"Well, just stop being so-"_

_"I know how I'm acting, Snape. What were you saying?" Harry's head is in the clouds a lot these days. He has a lot of responsibilities as the figurehead of wizarding Britain, as the lover to the Dark Lord. Lately, Harry's been thinking of new spells to help prevent lycanthropy. He knows that he should ask Snape for help, but sometimes Snape can be so bloody difficult._

_Snape is speaking to him again when Harry feels Voldemort walk into the room. "How's the strategy planning coming?" He directs the question at Harry, and Harry blushes._

_"You've been off in your head again, haven't you?" Harry just nods at him._

_Voldemort leans down, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder and whispers into Harry's ear in Parseltongue. "If you don't pay attention, I'll have to punish you tonight, but if you do, there will be a reward."_

_Harry feels a delighted shudder run down his spine as Voldemort leaves the room. He can't decide whether to pay attention or not._

****

Harry spent the day after killing Greyback asleep in bed. He was drained emotionally, physically, and magically. He kept hearing Voldemort's words, "Harry, now, kill him!" echoing over and over in his brain.

He felt so happy casting the spell to kill Greyback, despite the fact that he'd been taught that he should hate it, especially that particular spell. However, when he heard Voldemort order him to make the kill that he'd been so desperate to make, he hadn't even hesitated.

The thought that the thing responsible for the death of his best friends was dead made Harry feel happier and more at peace than he had ever imagined himself feeling. Waking up two days after his first conscious kill, Harry came to the conclusion that not all of Dumbledore's teachings were correct.

Harry decided that he could be happy doing Dark Arts and that he would let himself be happy working with Tom Riddle.

 

****

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest so fast that it felt like it would break free of his rib cage and bleed its rhythm into Voldemort's mouth. Harry knew that he should be screaming or whimpering or convulsing with the sheer excess of emotion- lust, most of all, and joy following behind, and frustration, and oh god. . . heat and cold and so many other wordless, nameless feelings. His skin was sweltering, sweat dripping across his forehead in waves he couldn't wipe away, another tease amongst many in this reality game.

He could feel their bodies pressed so closely, heated skin against skin. His body ached with sensation, legs spread just a touch beyond comfortable, cock being assaulted by talented teeth, tongue, and lips, mouth gasping for air, and wrists wrapped in gradually heating metal.

Lucius slid his body up Harry's slowly, so Lucius knew that Harry could feel every inch of him and so that he could feel every inch of Harry. And as Harry gasped for air once more, Voldemort bit playfully at Harry's bottom lip, hands running up oh-so-sensitive sides to toy with the young wizard's nipples. Then, Lucius ground his hips just slightly against Harry's, and the sensation caused him to forget that one nearly impossible order.

"Oh, fuck. . ." he gasped out, body almost arching off the bed into the men.

Immediately, they both pulled away, a grin on Voldemort's face. The desire to scream was even stronger than before. If Harry thought the sensation was bad, the lack of sensation was just shy of torture. He opened his mouth to protest, plead, scream, something, but thought better of it. He was not supposed to make a sound.

"Oh, Harry," Voldemort whispered with a grin against his cheek. "You broke that one simple order. It looks as if Lucius will have to take care of himself. You'll just have to watch." Harry's breath hitched quite noticeably, and his eyes opened even wider. His heart continued beating faster and harder and faster inside his chest, and as Lucius stepped off the bed and began to stroke himself, it seemed like Harry might explode. His eyes fluttered shut in reaction, as if shutting away the image could make it all slow down.

Then, Harry felt a hand gripping his chin in a tight hold. "Open your eyes," Voldemort commanded, and he couldn't help but obey. That voice was the voice he'll always follow, and his heart sped even further just thinking about it. "Keep them open. Don't move, and don't make a sound. Just watch." His body stilled outwardly, though inside, there was a swirling rush of emotion and activity. More than anything, he wanted to touch and be touched or at least make a sound to show them how much he felt. He knew they could see that in his eyes, but they both ignored it in favour of teasing him further.

Harry's eyes couldn't help but watch as Lucius stroked himself as he would have been stroking Harry. When Lucius's hand moved faster and faster, Harry's breath sped up, as well. When Voldemort's hand stroked across his chest at the exact moment that Lucius came, he was briefly startled but did not move. "Good boy," he heard Voldemort whisper.

Lucius slid three come-strained fingers up to Harry's mouth, and, at a look from Voldemort, he took them in eagerly. As Lucius removed his fingers from Harry's mouth, Voldemort leaned down to whisper into his ear, "I want to taste you." Harry's breath hitched once more, and his muscles twitched in response.

Voldemort slid down Harry's body this time, pressing kisses to the sweat-stained, sensitive skin of Harry's thighs. He twitched and gasped at the sensation, and Voldemort looked up to meet green eyes with his own. "Don't move."

****

_As Harry stares into the fire once again, seemingly paying attention to Snape, he thinks back on his life. When he was a very small boy and had never heard of magic, he dreamed of a kind wife and children. When he was eleven, he imagined a world filled with magic and happiness and no Dursleys. When he was sixteen, he only wanted a moment’s peace._

_Now, at eighteen (almost nineteen), Harry’s not sure what exactly he wants, except for a warm bed, a peaceful world, and a game of strategy between friends who are like family_


End file.
